


Wrong Side of the Wild Side

by washingDONE



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Character Death, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Kinda, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Werewolf Philip, fast pacing, pheacker is the main ship but there's a bunch of them in the end
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 17:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/washingDONE/pseuds/washingDONE
Summary: When a morning hunt leads Philip to find someone soaking wet and half-alive, his instincts tell him to help them.God, what a mistake that turned out to be.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> real excited to start writing this fic tbh  
> My tumblr's the-devil-wears-purple, hit me up there if u want

Philip had always liked hunting. It eased his mind, and let him push away the thoughts of his father’s position and his mother’s health. It allowed him to focus on the one thing that he could do to help everyone: feed the pack. He wasn’t the best at it, but he wasn’t the worst either. That was really what mattered, wasn't it?

He went on the morning hunting patrols as much as he could, and even squeezed his way into the afternoon ones if he was quick enough. As an apprentice, most of his time was spent training, but during the free hours, he was allowed to join patrols or do various jobs around camp. It wasn’t like hunting was the only choice that Philip had, it was just the only choice he genuinely enjoyed. There was the day and night guard, which was a nice title for the job of standing guard at one of the four borders of the camp, from sunset to midnight, or from midnight to dawn. Some people seemed to enjoy the everlasting boredom that came from such a task, but Philip wouldn’t be able to survive.  He got whiny after standing still in one spot for an hour, there was no way he'd last half of a day in the same spot. There were other things like den-cleaning duty, pup caretaking, and everything that kept the pack running smoothly. Everyone had a somewhere and a something just for themselves. 

Philip still found himself being outclassed by most of the wolves in his pack, at least in his mind. Everyone had their _thing_. Just that thing that they were great at, something that they showed exceptional skill for. Georges had always been congratulated by the others for his prowess in battle. He'd be a great warrior at the front lines. Martha, like her father, was an excellent smooth talker, and could persuade and beguile others with ease. She'd make a good diplomat. Even his sister had her own thing. Angelica was already showing signs of becoming a great mother and matron someday, and spent almost all her time taking care of the new pups. She would love doing the same thing as their mother, becoming a matron for life. Even Philip’s best friend, Richard, had his thing. Richard was an excellent hunter, better than some of the seniors. Better than Philip, too. 

And Philip? 

So far, Philip hadn’t found his thing. He wasn’t particularly skilled in any fields, even though he wasn’t awful. Mediocre. The word itself made his insides boil. He couldn’t be an inspirational, strong right paw like his father, and that itself killed him inside. He couldn't be a charming diplomat. He couldn't be a brave, loyal warrior. Sometimes it felt like he couldn't be anything at all. Just...Philip. 

Sometimes he wondered what life would’ve been like if he had been born outside of the forest. Maybe as a human, or a demigod, or something equally boring. That kind of life felt a million miles away. No pack to protect him and shelter him like family? No hunting patrols every morning and every night? It seemed so distant. 

Would he still be expected to live up to all of his supposed potential? Be a better wolf than his father ever was? Then he shook off the thought with a fierce anger. Those kinds of thoughts could’ve gotten a strong scolding from his father, the kind of words that would let themselves be known in Philip’s mind, echoing weeks after they had been said, burning into his brain. 

“Uh, Philip?” Richard shouldered Philip playfully, grinning. “You seemed a little spaced out. Something’s up?” Philip shook his head, a bit ashamed to have been caught zoning out. 

“Okay, then. Try to at least _look_ like you’re paying attention to Adams’s endless rants next time, though.” He added with a smirk. Adams shot a dirty look at the two of them from over his shoulder. The sun was out and the spring grass was plentiful. Today was a good day for a hunt. Even though weather tended to be unpredictable around this part of the forest, there were always good hunting days, usually foreshadowing a big storm or a drought. 

Suddenly, Richard stopped in his tracks. His ears were pricked up, tail still all of the sudden. One of his ears twitched. He sniffed the air cautiously. 

“Five rabbits. Left. Kind of far, can’t tell.” Richard murmured softly. Everyone in the patrol caught on pretty quickly, and lowered their voice to hushed whispers. 

“Octagon formation.” John muttered. Eight of them lined up around the clearing, leaving just Richard and Philip without spots. Slowly, the eight werewolves advanced forward, making their presence known, and surrounding the rabbits. Richard and Philip exchanged grins, and bounded forward. They both drove all five rabbits right into their packmates’ paws. A few more catches continued, and nobody was satisfied until all ten of them each had at least one piece of fresh prey in their hands. On the way back, Richard started talking. Philip snapped into attention just to hear Richard finish a story about his encounter with Jared, one of the more attractive males in camp, and getting too flustered to form a conversation beyond incoherent babbling. Richard started to ask for suggestions as to how to redeem himself. Philip took the pheasant that hung from his jaw and lowered it so that he could speak. 

“Lower your standards.” Philip snickered, earning a laugh from Richard and a friendly shove. 

“You’re just jealous that I’m actually trying to score.” Richard retorted. “When was the last time you tried to flirt?” 

“I’m waiting for the right person to come along.” Philip replied, his cheeks taking on a pink hue.

“Or, he’s already found the right person, and he’s too shy to ask them.” Georges, who had been silent up until this point, added. Philip's face only got redder.

“Maybe that’s it. Who is it, Philip?” The two of them persisted, wanting to have a name to someone that didn’t even exist. The teasing was relentless. Philip didn’t actually plan to settle down with a mate and start a family, though it was on his bucket list at most. It wasn’t like he hadn’t considered it before. It just never really stuck out as something urgent and important, more like a side objective that didn’t really have much necessity, other than to further the generation. Along with that, none of the males or females in the pack really interested him in that way. 

Philip nudged Richard’s shoulder, trying to get him to stop with the mate talk. Richard responded by pushing Philip back, which escalated into the two werewolves getting into a shoving match, each shoving harder and harder. Philip yelped as cold water suddenly clung to his skin, before he realized that Richard had “accidentally” pushed him into the river. 

“What the fuck?” Philip cried, but he was laughing with it. He made to swim back to the shore, but didn’t quite realize that the river was stronger than he’d thought. Every time he tried to fight the current, it pushed him back even harder. So, of course, he tried to let his body relax and float to the shore. But the current was determined to carry him on his path. All he could really do was wave his arms in desperation and fear as he was dragged downstream faster than he could run. The patrol had noticed, and Georges even jumped into the water to try and grab Philip. 

Philip attempted to keep Richard and the patrol in his line of sight, but they became little dots after a while. Even Georges drifted away, the current carrying him so far from Philip's grasp.    
When he was finally washed up to the shore, he had no idea where he was. The area was unfamiliar; the pack’s scent was gone, meaning that Philip was in foreign territory. The river crossed through a small clearing, surrounded by tall trees that reached at him with sharp claws. Philip shuddered, and got up, shaking all the water off of his body.    
It was then that the Hamilton finally noticed the gray figure.

It wasn’t very well hidden, so it’s not like Philip could’ve missed it. A shadowy gray that stood out along with the jade green grass and the bright gold dandelions. It was shivering, and sopping wet. It seemed to have washed up from the river as well, though it was evident that the figure washed up before Philip did. 

Philip was, naturally, a little cautious. The figure was shuddering violently, and looked like it might explode at the touch. He crawled forward, trying to make his footsteps as light as possible, and let his fur flatten. 

“Hello? Are you lost?” Philip asked softly. As if on cue, the figure stopped shaking, as though stilled by his words. Maybe they were trying to convince him that they were dead. He sighed; not exactly what he’d been going for. He reached his arm out, brushing against the creature’s shoulder. “I’m not trying to scare you. It’s - ”

The figure flinched away abruptly, and stood up on two legs, beginning to run. He tried to call out, but by the time he got out a word, the figure - whoever, or whatever it was - had fled into the bushes. 

“Philip?” A voice called out. He perked up, looking over to the source. Richard burst into the clearing, looking relieved. 

“Told you we’d find him!” Richard said, turning around. Adams entered behind him, looking disinterested and bored. 

“Fine, brat. Let’s just get him back to camp before Alpha has my head over this.” Adams shot Philip a dirty look. “Pull something like that again and your father might just find out about how you swam into foreign territory. 

A cloud seemed to hang over the three as they made their way back to camp. There was no room for small talk, or casual conversation. Philip thought over what he had just seen. The lump, quivering silently. Running away from him.

Was he that scary? Or something else? Philip couldn’t tell.

Sometime afterwards, Richard apologized for knocking him into the river. Philip accepted it, obviously. They had just been fooling around. The Alpha wouldn't agree, though, so they stayed quiet about it once they got to camp.   
He thought about the figure, the lump, whatever he was supposed to call it. All day, it was on his mind. He had a strange feeling, something telling him to go back to the river. Look for the figure. He tried to ignore it, but it followed him all around camp for the rest of the afternoon. It followed him at dinnertime, even with his pack mates feasting beside him. He sank his teeth into the rabbit meat in front of him, trying to forget about the day's events. Even at bedtime, the thought followed him. He curled up in the small, somewhat cramped den, surrounded by his siblings and parents. The den was filled with the sounds of breathing, snoring and the soft whistle of the wind outside.  

He couldn't sleep. His eyes were shut tight, he tried everything. A handful of lavender had been planted outside of every den in the camp months before, and it was supposed to help them sleep. The warm, sleepy scent wafted in from outside, and normally it would've eased him into slumber. 

But now, it didn't. The scent awakened him in a way, and seemed to tear away all the exhaustion that he had been feeling all day. He shifted a lot more than usual, changing positions every few seconds. 

He finally gave up trying to sleep, and got up, crawling out of the den awkwardly. He tried not to wake any of them, and looked over his shoulder to make sure all of them were sound asleep. 

He paced around camp, running into the tree that was used for food storage. 

He reached into the tree's hollow, pulling out a small baggie of meat. It was cooked, and he could tell that it was made for guests. Any time a non-werewolf came into camp, cooked meat was always on standby just in case they didn't eat it raw. There was plenty of cooked meat in here, one baggie didn't make that much of a difference, did it? 

Philip didn't even think about the fact that he was robbing the pack of food, even if it was just a little bit. That his actions might get his father demoted from position, might ruin the Hamilton reputation and encourage everyone in the pack to ridicule him and his father for live. All that would only happen if he got caught.   
He learned to be very, very good at not getting caught. 

Philip took the baggie out, trying to follow the path that the hunting patrol had taken that morning. He got to the river, and followed its waters all the way to the clearing. 

There was hardly a sign that Philip had been there at all, except for trampled grass, and some odd scent. It reminded him of the lavender around his den, but softer and weaker.   
He sat down under one of the trees, and placed the baggie right next to him. 

All through the night, he learned just how difficult it was being a night guard. Even sitting, his limbs ached, and he needed to get up every few moments to stretch out his legs. The moon passed through the sky, leering down on him. And all through the night, he didn't see a single sign of the gray mass that he had encountered that morning. 

He didn't even realize that he was drifting off to sleep until he was curled up under that tree, snoozing soundly. 

The next morning, the food baggie was gone, and a small, tattered feather was on his nose, filling his nostrils with such a sweet scent, a bit stronger than before. 

That morning was the day that Philip made up his mind. He wasn't going to tell anyone about this, what he was doing, and he made a promise to come back very, very often. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i suck for waiting so long to update this, sorry ;v;

"Our tracking skills are impeccable, seeing as how we descended from the common wolf and such. Our noses can detect smells and scent trails that other species can't, and the _average_ werewolf should be able to link a scent to a scent trail within less than a minute." Adams cut a dirty look at Richard. "Of course, I did say average. Some werewolves, on the other hand, would much rather be climbing trees like squirrels and common prey. Who am I to judge them?" 

Philip was perched on the edge of a rotten log, listening intently to Adams's every word. Normally, he wouldn't pay such close attention to a mere tracking class. This was different. It had been weeks since he'd started bringing food to the creature, but he still had yet to even catch a glimpse. He never saw more than a flash of feathers and gray blurs in his peripheral vision. He never stopped though, convinced that the creature would die without the food. 

But still, he wanted to see its face. And perhaps taking extra classes on tracking prey would help him catch the creature. Not for eating, though. For talking, and talking only. 

"I smelled something interesting, that's it!" Richard cried indignantly in response to the laughter around him. Georges was half-paying attention, and Angelica had just gotten back from greeting the new litter of pups in the Matron's den. Her tail lashed from side to side anxiously, as if she still expected a pup to emerge from the shadows and attack it.

"Well, since you've shown such sudden interest in this, why don't you volunteer to help me demonstrate something?" Adams snarled. "Unless, of course, that in itself is too much for you to handle." 

"It's not!" Richard replied sharply, standing up and stomping up to Adams.

"Now, I want you to all to close your eyes. I can see you peeking, Richard. Now, take a deep breath. In, out. Now, another. Hold it." Philip took another deep breath through his nose, taking in all the rich scents. "What can you tell me about our surroundings, based on what you smell?" 

Philip shifted in place, sorting out the different scents around him, as the others piped up. 

"I can smell the river! Fish, and freshwater." Richard said immediately. Philip could practically hear him wrinkling his nose. "Ugh, fish." 

"Good. The river's far off, but close enough to smell. What else?" Adams questioned. "Anyone?" 

"I can smell bird's eggs in the tree behind us." Angelica murmured thoughtfully. "The scent is kind of weak." 

"Well done. The scent is weak because the eggs were laid days ago, but I'm sure you already knew that." Philip took another deep breath, and perked up as a familiar scent filled his lungs. 

"I smell the Southern Pack's borders." Georges recalled quickly, speaking before Philip could say anything. "They moved their border a little closer to ours this morning." 

"Very good, Georges. Yes, they've moved the borders a bit too close for comfort. Might have to bring that up to Alpha." Adams continued, deep in thought. "Oh, yes. Philip, anything to offer? Or has the difficult challenge of using your nose stumped you?" 

Philip bristled in frustration, tail lashing back and forth, and barked, "I smell a buck, not too far from here! A buck that could feed the whole pack!" His eyes flashed open, as did the eyes of Adams, Richard, Georges and Angelica. 

"Really?" Richard gasped, standing up quickly.   
"He's right, I can smell it too!" Angelica beamed, getting up.   
"We should try to catch it!" Richard exclaimed. Before any of the others could argue, he burst into the undergrowth, tail whipping behind him. 

"Ugh, one of you go catch him." Adams waved in the direction Richard had gone.   
"He went the wrong way. The buck's scent was..." Philip's voice fell short when he noticed all eyes were on him. 

"Where was the scent?" Georges asked curiously. "I can't smell anything."

"It's that way." Philip pointed in the opposite direction that Richard had run. "Can you go get Richard?" 

"You go get him." He replied sharply. "I'm going to get that buck!" 

"How are you going to catch it if you can't smell it?" Angelica smirked at the dumbfounded expression on his face. She turned to Philip. "Don't worry, I'll get Richard." She walked forward, disappearing into the direction Richard had left.

"I guess that leaves us." Georges looked over at Philip, gaze distant. "Lead the way, Philip." 

"Say no more." 

Philip took another deep breath, trying to conjure up that scent again. Rich and earthy, and unique. He honed in on that smell, and found it. It was weak, but it was a scent!

"This way!" Philip dashed forward, until he realized that Georges was following him, but Adams wasn't. "You're coming with us, right?" 

"I'm not going to join you in a wild goose chase. Bet that buck's scent is a figure of your imagination. If Georges couldn't pick up on it, how can we take your word for it?" Adams sneered, making him bristle in surprise. "I'm headed back to camp. Good luck getting that buck." He stomped off, tail swishing behind him with the utmost grace and dignity. Philip growled, ready to chase after him. 

"Don't waste your time." Georges cut quickly, putting one hand on his shoulder. "Let's just catch that buck and prove him wrong, hmm?"   
"Okay..." Philip nodded hesitantly, and eventually moved forward. He caught the scent again fairly easily, and lead Georges through the twists and turns of the forest. It was almost like a maze, but they pursued the scent through every turn.

It all paid off when they encountered the buck. It was so close, so tantalizingly close. So large that it was mouthwatering. Something like this would let them dine like kings for days. He had to get it. 

"You take it from the front, I'll close it in to keep it from running." Georges explained a well-thought out strategy (even though Philip knew he probably made it up on the fly). "Keep it occupied while I take care of it from behind." 

"Okay. Count of three?" Philip got into the traditional hunter's crouch, putting all of his strength into his back legs to prepare for a springing jump. 

"One..." 

"Two..."

"Three!" 

Philip leaped forward, racing towards the deer headfirst. Adrenaline pumped through his legs like never before, and he sprung on top of the buck. His claws dug into its head, and he sank his fangs into its neck, biting and scratching. He clung to the head and antlers, and clung tightly as the buck wailed and shook, trying to throw him off violently. 

He kept making attacks on the buck, holding out until the last minute. He saw Georges creeping from behind in the corner of his eye. He managed to hold on until Georges leaped, jumping on the buck's back and clawing at its belly. 

Philip let go, hitting the ground with a dull thud, and shook off the dizziness. The world was spinning, but he flexed his claws and slashed and swiped at the buck's legs, cutting it down. 

The buck eventually submitted, knees buckling, and hit the ground with a louder thud. Blood seeped into its fur, spilling onto the grass.   
Georges licked the blood off of his claws, smiling lightly. 

"I can't wait to rub this in Adams's face."   
When the two made it to camp, dragging a large, heavy buck behind them, it became well worth it. They made it just as the others were going to start eating, and every head in the pack turned in their direction. 

The praise that was showered upon them made Philip practically glow. But, most of it was directed towards Georges. Of course, they'd assume the best fighter in camp was able to catch it single handed. 

He started to head towards the hunter's den, listening to all the praise Georges was getting. Alpha even offered him one of the best cuts of the deer, for catching it!  
"Actually, I'd like to decline." Georges replied respectfully. "No hard feelings, Alpha, but it wasn't just me. Philip did most of the hard work. He tracked its scent and lead us straight to it." Philip's ears shot up, and he looked over at Georges in surprise.  
"Well, if that's the case, both of you can pick a cut of the meat for yourselves. Congratulations, you two." Alpha walked away to talk with one of the elders.  
His father didn't hesitate to praise him happily.  
"I couldn't even hope to catch a buck when I was your age. Especially one that large!" His father laughed, nuzzling him affectionately. "I'm so proud of you, Philip. Pride isn't the word I'm looking for."  
Adams, on the other hand, was gloating about the catch to the other hunters.  
"Ah, yes, an entire buck at that. I taught him everything he knows." Adams smiled charmingly, flexing his claws. "He wouldn't be here now without my help."  
Philip picked out one of the hind legs, and carried it over to where Richard, Angelica and Georges were waiting. The leg was large enough for them to share it four ways, and it was as delicious as expected.  
"I can't believe you two caught a deer! An entire deer!" Richard exclaimed, blushing. "And I was the one who ran the opposite direction."  
"You'll catch a deer too, Richard." Georges said through a mouthful. "Everywolf does eventually. It just takes time. Someday."  
The four of them chatted amiably until the sun vanished over the horizon, and Alpha was announcing curfew shortly.  
Philip hurried over to what was left of the deer, and found it to be bones and fur. He picked out a plump rabbit that had been caught the morning before, and walked over to the healer's den.  
It wasn't as full as usual. The only people there was one of the senior hunters that had a broken leg, a sickly pup that had eaten something rotten, and his mother.  
She was resting on a bed of moss in the corner of the den. Her breathing was soft, and relaxed, although a bit shaky.  
"Ma?" Philip wondered if she was asleep. She stirred, and eventually called back.  
"Philip, is that you?"  
"Yeah, I brought food." He cut into the rabbit, letting the smell waft along.  
"Come here." His mother beckoned. He moved closer to his mother, sitting down and pushing the rabbit towards her.  
"I heard what you caught today." His mother murmured as she bit into the rabbit. "I'm so proud of you, dear."  
"I know, Ma." Philip smiled, watching her eat. She wasn't quite healthy enough to sleep with the others in the dens, because of the risk of spreading the sickness. Still, she seemed fine. She got thinner every day, though, and each visit, her voice got quieter and quieter. To be worried was an understatement.  
When she was thoroughly finished with the rabbit, she pushed the rest aside.  
"Go, now. I might get you sick." His mother shooed playfully, mirth glittering in her eyes. Philip smiled, ears twitching, and nuzzled her affectionately.  
"Okay. Bye," He started walking towards the den entrance, where pale moonlight leaked through. He paused, looking over his shoulder.  
"Love you, Ma." He murmured softly. His mother shifted, and he could see the beginnings of a smile making its way onto her features.  
"I love you more, Philip." Her voice was soft and distant, as she drifted off into sleep.  
The grass was soft, and tipped with frost as the beginnings of winter were starting to show. It crunched under his feet.  
Philip walked towards his den, where his father was curled up in a pile with all of his siblings. Some snored softly in their sleep, twitching and shifting.  
He was about to go in, when a thought struck him.  
Maybe he might catch the creature tonight? He'd done pretty well during tracking class, perhaps he'd get lucky this time. Besides, he wouldn't get caught, especially not tonight. Most of the pack was full and sleepy from the deer, so the patrols wouldn't be as alert as they usually were. Most nights. Philip spent a considerable amount of time crouched in the bushes, hiding from the nearby patrols and dipping himself in the icy river to hide his scent.  
He changed his route, walking towards the prey storage and grabbing another baggie from the bottom of the pile.  
He knew the route to the clearing by heart, knew every turn and straight and tree like the back of his hand.  
When he made it to the clearing, he walked towards the familiar tree that he found himself curling under every night. He took a deep breath through his nose, letting all the scents and smells waft by.  
He could smell the sickly pheasant that lived in one of the nearby trees.  
He could smell the rich, exotic pines that surrounded the clearing, sweet and intoxicating.  
He could smell the thick, fishy scent of the river nearby, and he could hear the bubbling water.  
He could smell the lavender fields, not too far away, and the smell was sweet and sleepy.  
Another smell wafted past, strange and intoxicating. It was soft, sweet and birdlike. He took another breath, and found that the smell was strongest in the tree that he was sitting under.  
He craned his neck to look up at the towering pine, squinting. It was too dark to see much, and his night vision wasn't as advanced as some of the other werewolves'. He could've sworn he felt a pair of eyes on him, burning through his skin, but the feeling vanished as soon as it had arrived. The only thing he could see clearly was a small, scrawny squirrel scrambling through the branches.  
Philip gave up, curling up underneath the tree and clutching the baggie to his chest. If the creature really wanted it, it would have to pry the meat out of his sharp claws first.  
He closed his eyes tightly, and took deep breaths, patiently.  
He could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll update this every four days, or try to.   
> hope ya liked it :D


End file.
